I settled onto a vast, cold bollard. The scent was unmistakable—stagnant water, paint and damp ropes.
How many ships have graced this dock? What tales have the sailors spun? Uncharted lands, weeks and months adrift on the sea. How many of them never returned… drowned, lost, or lingered in new worlds, chasing their fortunes? How many sons, how many fathers, how many descendants carry their blood in the world today?
A snipe cried out, perched at the top of a schooner’s mast. It was claiming its evening meal.